


Personal Interests

by limit_breaker



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Exchange, Sadomasochism, Shameless Smut, Submissive Kylo Ren, complete trash, the garbage'll do!, this ship is garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 09:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5703457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limit_breaker/pseuds/limit_breaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To help manage Kylo Ren's flagrant instability, he and General Hux have an arrangement of sorts, whereby Hux provides Ren with some hands-on discipline training. But perhaps Ren is enjoying these sessions a bit too much...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Interests

**Author's Note:**

> Soo... this was largely the product of combining several inspirational TFA-Kink meme prompts into one long, filthy piece of BDSM trash garbage because I myself am trash garbage.
> 
> A few of said prompts: “Kylo/Hux victory [speech] sex”, “Ren/Hux, Interrogation Chair”, something about Kylo using BDSM as a way to resist the pull to the Light, and another one about Kylux smut with Ren wearing only his mask. You people... you are my kind of trash <3

The room is cold and dimly lit, located down a distant and rarely-frequented corridor. It’s an interrogation room, but not one reserved for high-priority prisoners. This one is reserved for inmates who have nothing left to tell, ones that can easily be ignored, forgotten, for days— weeks, perhaps. A seldom-used restraining apparatus with bulky metal shackles sits uprights in the middle of the otherwise barren room. A faint whirring from the data terminals can be heard, but all else is silent. Kylo Ren can sense his presence before he sees him, hears him, and his chest pounds with anticipation when the silence is broken by the heavy footfall of steel-toed boots on the chrome floor. The steps are brisk, purposeful.

The door whizzes open and this man on a mission marches in. He stops, doors shutting solidly behind him.

“General Hux,” Kylo acknowledges without turning around. "I had wondered if you would grace me with your presence today."

"I haven't given you permission to speak to me."

Ren turns to face the general. He’s dressed in his full, crisply-ironed military regalia, probably just back from having recorded another morale speech for the troops. There is an air of superiority about him, more so than usual now. Hux always gets this way after a recording session or speech. His confidence and poise after delivering these monologues is intoxicating. Drunk on his own power trip, Hux emanates commandeering authority and he has come to give Kylo a taste.

Behind the safety of his mask and cowl, Ren examines Hux up and down from head to toe—his First Order cap perched perfectly upon his plastered red hair, that greatcoat resting heavily on his shoulders, the collar stiff and sturdy, covering his neatly buttoned tunic. The polished silver clasp of his belt is the only bit of colour breaking up the jet-black of his uniform.

Kylo knows that with the Force behind him, he wields more power than Hux ever could, but without the same demeanor of cocksure self-control that the general is capable of displaying, Hux will always have the upper hand. His own power is limited by his untamed temper and the confusion that surges within him. To this end, the two have come to a mutual agreement: Hux has agreed (or was it volunteered...?) to provide Kylo with certain hands-on lessons to help familiarize him with the concept of discipline. In exchange, Kylo Ren has agreed (or was THAT volunteered?) to give himself up to him behind closed doors, completely. The arrangement scratches an itch Kylo has long-harboured, and the more he gives in, the more he craves it. Against a man this self-possessed, Kylo no longer has to fight, to struggle. He simply surrenders. Conceding like this is the only time he feels free of the burden of his own power. Cultivating control, and then relinquishing it... it's liberating. And Hux, for his part, feeds off of the exchange.

“Why are you still clothed?” He asks.

Kylo straightens. Wordlessly, he removes his cowl, his cape, the thick belt fitted around his hips. He sheds his coat and gloves. Next, Kylo reaches to the clasps of his mask.

“No,” says Hux coldly, “leave it.”

Kylo cocks his head to one side but obeys. Hux watches with scrutiny as Kylo pulls his long sleeve shirt over his helmeted head. He manages to pull his shoes off with more ease than one would expect from boots so thick and tall. He kicks them aside with the rest of his discarded clothing and steps out of his pants, now down to just his briefs—and, of course, that constricting mask. A raised eyebrow and pointed look from Hux suggests Kylo better lose the underwear fast, so he does.

“Kneel before me,” Hux commands.

Kylo smiles from behind his mask and drops to his knees on the polished ground. His hands are folded behind his back and he stares down at the general’s boots, deferentially. Hux’s gloved hand catches him at the chin and tilts his head up to look into the slit of his mask. He’s come a long way in taming his impatience and fury, but if the most recent ship repair bills are any indication, there is still much work to be done. And while Ren may be growing less insolent, it seems he is becoming insatiable in its place. Hux considers reprimanding Kylo about his overindulgence in these peripheral interests, but pauses to select his words with care. Even with these increasingly-frequent instructional sessions, Ren's volatility remains brazen. Releasing him, Hux notes as Kylo’s gaze again falls.  _Good._  He reaches into the deep interior pocket of his greatcoat, pulling out a short riding crop. Kylo knows Hux can see his dick hardening with anticipation, eagerly awaiting the next command. Slipping his hand into the loop at the hilt, he brings the flat leather tongue of the opposite end to Kylo’s chin. "After hearing of your recent encounter with Lieutenant Mitaka, it seems you require additional training," he says. "But sometimes I wonder if your acting out is on purpose."

Kylo stiffens, clenching his jaw. Hux clasps his hands at the small of his back and turns away. Kylo’s eyes remain locked on the riding crop. “Do you know what I did today?” Hux asks, changing the subject. Kylo knows better than to respond. “While you were sulking over the loss of that imaginary map, I gave the command to prepare for the destruction of the Hosnian System. In just a few days, Starkiller Base will reach its full potential and I will wipe out the weakness and bedlam defiling our galaxy under the name of “the Republic”. A corrupt and illegitimate government that acquiesces to anarchy cannot be allowed to continue masquerading as organization and unity. I will put this galaxy back in order. The undisciplined masses will bow to the might of the First Order.” He turns back to look down at Kylo. “The same way you will bow to me as I bring you back into order.”

Kylo brings his hands in front of him and bows, pressing his masked forehead against the cold metal of the floor. He is bowing to the self-discipline General Hux carries. Perhaps one day he will manage to reign his own internal chaos in the same. Hux does not make a single movement that is unplanned or excessive, he is exacting, demanding, ruthless, and fastidious to a fault. Kylo hates that about the man, but loves what it does to him. He sits up again, back straight. The leather pad of the riding crop is again at his chin. “Stand.”

Guided by a slight pressure from the crop, Kylo obeys, rising to his ridiculously long legs. Though not much taller than Hux, he seems to tower over him, even stark naked—a fact that the general did not appreciate. Hux does not like having to look up at his submissive and makes a pointed motion towards the interrogation rack.

Kylo approaches it and presses his bare chest against the cold metal platform. He places his feet onto the small step at the bottom and slips his wrists into the restraints above his head, which Hux tightens forcibly. Hux uses a foot pedal at the base of the machine to tilt the apparatus to a 45° angle.

Hux moves to stand behind him and pauses to consider the view. Kylo Ren is splayed out before him, face down on the rack, arms bound, and naked save the mask covering his face. Hux imagines it must blind his peripheral vision, which pleases him. He reaches out to run a gloved hand along the length of Kylo’s spine. It doesn't matter how many times they do this, Hux still takes a moment to silently admire the smattering of freckles and beauty marks dotting Kylo's pale skin.

It is time to give that flesh some colour, he decides. He raises the riding crop and brings it down with a sharp satisfying  _smack_  across the crack of his ass. Kylo winces, his muscles flexing against the restraints, but does not call out. Not the first time, not the second, not even the third or fourth. He needs this. This is the kind of pain he can stand. The pull to the Light has been strong in these past few days and this distraction— this punishment— is what he needs to bring him back. He hears Hux behind him, complaining something about his destructive habits in the control room, but he filters it out for now. He lets Hux think what he wants about his reasons for this deal. What would Hux know about the Force, anyway? How could he understand the internal battle between Light and Dark that Kylo fought every day? He doesn't know what it feels like to have power but no control. He is there to show Kylo what control means. It must be a dozen strikes later and one hits in just the right place to cause him to writhe. The next forces a small cry from his lips, the sound becoming distorted through the mask.

“What was that?” Hux demands.

Kylo swallows. His foreskin is retracting as he grows uncomfortably hard against the cold metal of the bench.

Hux leans in dangerously close to Kylo’s ear. “I asked you a question.” Kylo could feel the throb of Hux’s erection against the backs of his legs through his uniform trousers.

Kylo closes his eyes tightly. His breath is ragged, fogging the already limited vision of his visor, and his pulse pounds in his ears. The helmet is claustrophobic and these inflexible restraints aren’t any better. It is right where Hux wants him. The thought makes his cock ache. “It was nothing. A moment of weakness. It won’t happen again.”

Hux straightens and Kylo feels the crop at the insides of his thighs, lightly striking the left, then the right. He takes the uncharacteristically gentle hint and spreads his legs wider. He feels the leather tongue at his tailbone, slowly dragging up his vertebrae, to his nape, and he suppresses the urge to shiver.

He again has Hux at his side, whispering harshly into the ear vents on his mask, fingertips from a gloved hand digging into his opposite shoulder. “Control yourself,  _Ren_ , or I will give you something to cry about.”

“Please do, General,” Kylo begs. “I need your guidance.”

He hears Hux unfastening that silver buckle and unzipping his pants. Those leather gloved hands are at his hips and the sensation sends ripples of pleasure across his burning skin. Hux has pulled out his dick and is rubbing it along Kylo’s asscrack, grazing the tender flesh within.

Kylo’s cock twitches, beads of pre-cum forming at the head, and he stifles a moan. Hux backs up. He walks around to face a squirming Kylo Ren. Out of a second pocket in his coat, Hux withdraws a thin bottle of lubricant, holding it in front of the masked man. Kylo regards it, but is more interested in the sight of Hux’s engorged dick sticking out of his freshly-pressed trousers. He wants it. Hux frees Kylo’s right hand from the shackles and squeezes an ample amount of lube onto his palm.

“If you want it,” Hux says, “do it yourself.”

With his lubed hand, Kylo takes Hux’s cock, lathering it in oil. He works it from base to head, making sure to slick it in its entirety. Hux pours more lubricant into Kylo’s hand and Kylo reaches back to grease his own asshole. He inserts one finger slowly, then a second, slowly opening himself up for a third wet finger. Hux pockets the bottle and moves back into position behind him.

Again Kylo feels the smooth leather of Hux’s gloves on his sides, his pelvis rocking against his ass. He slides his wrist back into the metal restraint, which Hux again tightens, locking him into place. Kylo’s fingers grasp for something to hold on to, but come up empty. Hux takes one hand off of his hip to guide himself in, the warmth enveloping his cock. Against his better judgement, Kylo tenses, breath withheld, as Hux pushes into him. “You know this is always worse for you when you resist,” Hux rasps into his ear. He knows, he knows. If he’s learned anything from these sessions, it’s that disobedience, resistance, only brings more suffering.  _Succumb. Acquiesce._ Relaxing slightly, Kylo can feel Hux’s dick slide past his sphincter muscles, further up inside of him. He exhales loudly, barely able to suppress a groan.

Hux is going slowly, ever meticulously careful, even now with his eager dick halfway up another man’s ass. Kylo rolls his hips as Hux pushes in further. Hux leans forward to bite down hard on Kylo’s shoulder. His frock is surprising soft against Kylo’s bare back and he can feel the fabric of Hux's trousers against his legs. He’s all the way in now, balls resting on the curvature of Kylo’s ass. A hand has found its way to the back of Kylo’s helmet, pushing it forward. Hux pulls out slightly, only to ram forward again. And again. And again. And Kylo’s toes are curling, fingers twitching to grab on to something that isn’t there. His breath is catching in his throat as he tries not to cry out while Hux is driving into him, balls slapping his ass each time he thrusts. He’s not sure if it hurts in a way that’s pleasurable or painful, but the mere fact that he doesn’t know is making him even harder against the metal of the interrogation rack. He feels the tip of Hux’s riding crop at his hipbone and he knows it won’t be long before he’s struck again. Sure enough, with the way Hux lets loose, red welts are soon stinging his glutes and he knows he'll be wearing the bruises of that whip tomorrow.

Hux slows his pace again, making shorter, deliberate movements now, in and out, suckling at the spot on Kylo’s shoulder as he does. Kylo could swear he hears Hux stifling soft moans against his skin, but he’s trying so hard not to cry out himself that he can’t focus enough to tell. He fails to restrain himself much longer, though, as Hux finds and slams into his prostate over and over. Kylo loses himself now, groaning uncontrollably every time Hux grinds into him. His legs are shaking and a sweat breaks out all over his body. Every thrust brings Kylo closer to orgasm, and he cries out each time, until finally he’s pushed over the edge. He cums hard, messy, between his belly and the metal of the bench, shuddering as waves of pleasure wash over his tortured body. And as Kylo’s post-coital moans fill the interrogation chamber, Hux reaches his own climax. He involuntarily lets out a soft grunt into the crook of Kylo’s neck as he cums, burying his face. His hands are climbing from Kylo’s hips, up his sides, to his shoulders where his fingers dig in to the supple flesh, almost massaging. A long moment passes while both men catch their breath and regain their senses before Hux lets his softening erection slide out. His cheeks are flushed and beads of sweat dot his forehead.

He pushes himself up and off of Kylo. Picking up an article of Kylo’s discarded clothing, his cowl, Hux cleans his cock before tucking it back in his pants. He pockets his riding crop, then drapes the soiled shawl over Kylo’s helmeted head.

“I should leave you like this,” Hux considers, the faintest hint of amusement playing at his features.

“You wouldn’t,” Kylo says. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he’s trying to decide if he’s saying them as a statement of fact or as a dare. And if it’s a dare, he doesn’t want to know how much he wants Hux to take it.

Hux raises an eyebrow. It doesn’t take a Force-sensitivity to read the man bound before him. He takes Kylo's chin in hand again, peering into the mask with his unfeeling steely blue eyes. “Careful, Ren. That your  _personal interests_ not interfere with your training. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were asking trouble." And it's an earnest warning. Hux can't deny that he's getting something out of this bargain as well, yet he idly wonders if this "discipline" he's giving to Ren is doing the man more harm than good. But then he considers that Ren's failure could ultimately mean his own victory. He will mull over this later, but for now, he unfastens the wrist shackles above the rack and takes his leave without so much as a backwards glance.

Ren lowers his arms from the restraints and removes his helmet, setting it on the floor. Rubbing his forearms, he turns over. He rests the back of his head against the metal of the rack and listens to the echo of bootsteps fade down the corridor. Perhaps one day he would cultivate that kind of self-control. Perhaps one day he would heed the general's warning. Perhaps one day he wouldn’t rely on Hux for discipline.

Or…

He wipes his stomach with his cowl and smirks.

…perhaps not.


End file.
